I saw this idea on Pinterest, and I wanted to see if I could do anything with it.
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The house looked exactly as it should.
Red bricks, white shutters and the cream colored door.
Everything was exactly the same as he remembered it.
Except him.
He was nothing like the man who had passed through those doors 80 years ago.
That man had long since died.
What was he thinking? He couldn't go in there. How could he possibly explain himself?
But he had come all this way.
He wasn't about to waste the pym particles.
The walk up to the porch seemed to be the longest walk he had ever taken.
His heart was pounding heavily in his heart, as he raised his fist and knocked on the door.
There once was a time that he would have simply barged in, kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable. Dinner would be ready, and he and his sisters would get busy setting the table.
The door opened after a few seconds, and he suddenly found himself staring down at an all too familiar woman. A woman whose face and voice had been ripped brutally from his memories.
His mind went blank.
He didn't have a clue what to say.
All he could do was stare at her.
She stared back at him, her mouth open and her eyebrows crinkled together. "James?" She finally asked.
His voice wasn't working. He opened and closed his mouth several times, before any sound came out of him.
"Hey ma," he croaked.
She continued to stare at him, but slowly reached her hand, placing it gently on his cheek. "Is it really you?"
He felt his composure slip slightly. It was as though he was being touched by an angel. Her hands even felt familiar against his skin. Soft but firm. "Yeah, ma," he got out, despite the tightness of his throat. "It's really me. I'm sorry it took me so long to come home."
"How is this possible?" She whispered. "We were told that you were dead. That you fell from a train on a mission."
He cleared his throat, willing himself to hold it together. "I did fall, but I was found by this organization who um...they were able to keep me alive...amongst other things."
She stared at him for another moment, "you're not my son, are you? You're not the son that left 3 years ago."
"What do you mean?"
"A mother knows," she replied softly. "I don't think I can understand where it is you're from, but there is too much turmoil, guilt and pain in your eyes for only 3 years to have passed. You, my boy, are carrying a mountain upon your shoulders that has been built through years of suffering."
His eyes stung with tears, "I'm from the future. The year 2023."
"I should say that time travel doesn't exist, but my dead son is standing on my porch."
He laughed weakly, "you always did have an open mind."
She stroked his cheek with her thumb, "what did they do to you?"
He took a shuddering breath, and slowly removed his glove to show her his metal hand. "They turned me into a monster."
She moved her hands from his head, and gently removed his jacket in order to get a better view of the arm. "I don't see how this makes you a monster."
He looked down again, guilt and shame filling his core. "You wouldn't say that if you knew what I've done. What I've used this hand to do. If you saw me for who I really was, you would be ashamed to call me your son."
She stepped back and looked him over. "All I see is a broken boy who needs a hug."
That did it.
The dam inside him broke and the emotion came flooding out. Before he really knew what had happened, he was on his knees, sobbing into her chest. Her arms were wrapped gently around him, and she was rocking back and forth slightly, humming an old lullaby.
He couldn't, for the life of him, get control of himself. Everything seemed to be pouring out of him. Emotions that he had been forced to repress for 100 years were flooding out of him.
He was in his mother's arms again. A place that he never dreamed he could be again. Her arms were wrapped securely around him and for the first time in nearly a century, he felt safe. Truly safe.
He soon found himself rambling on, through hiccups, about every horrible deed that he'd done. He couldn't stop himself. She needed to know the type of man that her son had become. He talked about how he had been weak and given into HYDRA's demands. How if he had been stronger, then the lives wouldn't have ended. Everything was spilling out of him.
His mom let him talk until he didn't have any words left in him.
She didn't say anything immediately. Instead she simply kept her arms around him, and kept rocking.
He knew she was crying, and it killed him to be the reason for those tears. He had failed her as a son. He was supposed to have been strong and brave. He should have stood up to HYDRA and resisted. He should have-
"It wasn't your fault," she finally said, her voice gentle, but firm. "How could you possibly think that you are a monster? You are not a monster, son. You are a victim. Horrible, horrible things were done to you. Any man would have broken. You are not the exception. I don't think of you any less, and I definitely don't love you any less. You were brave and strong and you did the best you could."
He didn't know how to respond to that, so they sat in silence.
"They took you away from me," he murmured after a few minutes of attempting to reel himself back in. "The memory of you, at least. I held onto it so hard, but I let go, ma. I let you go."
"That's okay," she soothed, pressing a kiss to his temple. "I'm back and I'm not going to go anywhere."
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to fully relax into her embrace. He felt like he was 10 again, and had just taken a fall from a tree. She was going to make him feel better. It was her superpower.
He didn't know how, but things were going to be okay now.
Somehow.
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Angst with some fluff.
:)